LOVE IS IN DISGUISE: Verne Estate Series, Book 3

3. LORAINE

To say that there’s no man in my life would be wrong. There’s indeed one, and for a long time.

To be honest, he’s everything to me. There isn’t a major decision in my entire life that I haven’t made without consulting him first. He taught me everything: to cook, to fish, to play football, to cheat at cards and even to fight. He was there for my first steps, my first words, my first day of school, but also for the tough times. He held my hand, wiped my tears, healed my wounds, and encouraged me in everything I did.

I didn’t grow up in what a lot of people call a traditional family if that term means anything these days. But I had the most beautiful childhood thanks to him. He’s at the same time my father, my mother, and, above all, my best friend. This man is Gustave, my grandfather, better known under the name of Papi Gus.

My father his son died a few months after I was born, and my mother, very young at the time, didn’t feel able to raise me on her own. She, therefore, entrusted me to his care when I was only a baby, without ever really reconnecting with us. And since that day, we have formed a strong team. I’m sure of one thing: it will always be Papi Gus and me against the rest of the world.

This strong bond that unites us made the decision to move him to a retirement home particularly difficult. Besides, if he hadn’t told me one fine morning that he wanted to go and live there, I don’t know if I would have been able to take the plunge. But we had to face the facts: his illness was gradually reducing his mobility, and I was no longer able to take care of him without help, and above all, he could no longer be alone in my absence. I visit him as often as possible, several times a week, always with a little pang in my heart; that of no longer having him near me at home.

The smell of old man, medicine and mustiness are eerily comforting as I approach the door to his bedroom. It’s closed, which surprises me because, as a rule, it isn’t. Gus is curious as a cat, so he never misses an opportunity to find out what’s going on around him. Having a view of the hallway and being able to spy on his neighbours casually is one of his favourite activities. He doesn’t hesitate, moreover, to give me detailed accounts of his latest discoveries on each of my visits.

I knock lightly, telling myself that a member of the staff has certainly pushed the door closed to give him some privacy during treatment. I can make out voices, which confirms that he’s not alone, and the sound of a chair scraping the floor. The next moment I hear Papi Gus screaming:

“Come in!”

I flip the handle, walk into the bedroom, and as I say a cheerful “hello” to my grandfather, something catches my eye.

There’s another man in the room, who, if I can tell by his clothes, probably didn’t work here.

And it’s not so much the fact that my grandfather has a visitor that surprises me, even if he doesn’t see many people apart from a few friends that I’ve known for ages, it’s rather that I’m sure of never having met this gentleman anywhere else. For the simple reason that… well, believe me, if I had already seen him, I couldn’t have forgotten it, because in front of me is a superb specimen of a man. 1.85 m at least. I’m rarely wrong in my estimates. He wears grey chinos, an azure shirt under a navy sweater, and his chestnut hair is combed to the side. He has a very modest demeanour, perhaps a bit too much for someone who must be just about 30 years old. But his eyes! Even under the yellowish neon lights of the bedroom, I’m mesmerised by their colour as tormented as a stormy sky. And while I think I’m the victim of a hallucination, he does something that leaves me all the more speechless: he smiles. It’s not the fact that that simple movement of the lips makes his face look even nicer (it does) that surprises me, it’s that it’s one of the most honest smiles I have seen for a long time. And amazingly, it’s intended for me. I’m tempted for a second to turn around to check that there’s no one else behind me, but I clearly remember closing the door, so I’m sure that’s not the case. This gorgeous man is smiling at me. And I feel my lips move to form a similar expression.

“You must be Loraine?” he asks, holding out his hand to me.

I give him mine to greet him, without really being aware of my gesture. I didn’t even have the presence of mind to answer his question, which he asked with a charming accent that I can’t quite place. His large hand squeezes mine, and this fleeting contact electrifies me. But unfortunately, he releases it much too quickly.

“Your grandfather told me a lot about you.”

“Ah… ah yes?” I say.

An amused gleam crosses his eyes that I have not left since I entered the room. It’s like I’m hypnotised by him… No, really, not like. I am hypnotised by this stranger.

“It seems that you are part of the police force?”

“Yes, it does.”

At least this time around I manage to make a more or less coherent sentence. Although this man is certainly not dazzled by my conversational qualities either.

He checks his watch, a simple leather strap wrapped around a wrist that’s far too tanned for the season. And now my mind drifts over this detail of his anatomy. Is it normal to find a wrist sexy? I’d be curious if he rolled up his sleeve to see what it was hiding. Certainly, a forearm that I imagine deliciously tanned.

He adds in the direction of Papi Gus:

“I’ll let you enjoy your charming granddaughter.”

No! He’s leaving already! First, it’s not every day that such a handsome man comes to town. I’m pretty sure it hasn’t happened in… well for so long that in female memory no one remembers! And secondly, no one, I mean no one, ever uses the adjective charming to refer to me!

“So soon!” I reply.

“Unfortunately, Loraine, I’m afraid duty calls me,” he smiles.

I love his singing way of pronouncing my first name and his way of expressing himself as if he were a gentleman from another era. Duty calls me.

“Gustave, I was delighted with our discussion. Loraine, see you soon, I hope?”

If someone witnessing the scene were to describe it, they would say I’m nodding like a spring-loaded puppet with the silliest expression ever.

He smiles at me and slips away with a flexible gait like a feline, offering me in passing a vision of the most delicious backside. And believe me when I say it’s just as perfect as his frontside. This man is a specimen of beauty as I have rarely seen. One of those that one would imagine in a museum, exposed in the manner of a David by Michelangelo with a small plaque designating it soberly: Homo sapiens perfectus.

Once the door is closed behind him, I let out a sigh of ecstasy and already wonder when I will have the pleasure of meeting again… What’s his name anyway?

“Grandpa, who is…?”

“You could come and kiss me at least before asking me questions! You didn’t even say hello to me!”

To my shame, I have to admit he’s right. I rush to correct this mistake and slam a loud kiss on Gus’ wrinkled cheek. I take him in my arms to give him a hug that will excuse, I’m sure, my forgetfulness.

“That’s okay! That’s okay!” grumbles my grandfather. “Release me! Feels like a python is about to suffocate me! Sit in this brave man’s chair.”

Brave isn’t the first adjective that would have occurred to me when I saw him, but my grandfather surely chatted with him longer. So why not? And then Papi Gus isn’t known for his excessive use of platitudes.

“By the way, what’s his name?” I ask with a look wanting to be detached when I can’t resist the urge to know a little more.

Papi Gus frowns and thinks.

“Boyle. Evan… no Ethan! Yes, that’s it! Ethan Boyle.”

Ethan Boyle. Even his name has something special.

“He’s not from the area, is he? He has a slight accent.”

“No, he just moved to the village a few days ago. He was telling me about his last mission in Africa.”

Which explains his tanned complexion!

“He’s Irish, I think,” adds Papi.

This is a sign that there’s a God in this world! He’s sending me a gorgeous man when I least expected it. An Irishman in addition! Me who just adores Saint-Patrick’s Day and the Villagers!

“And you know where he lives?”

“Near the church, I suppose?”

So right in my neighbourhood, since I live in a small house in the old village! It’s more and more interesting. But still, something calls out to me.

“What was he doing in your room? Is it the first time he’s been here?”

It’s true, I was so captivated by his physique that I didn’t even wonder if he could be a malicious man who would take advantage of my grandfather’s weakness. The cop in me is outraged. Aren’t you ashamed, Loraine? A handsome guy just shows up and you forget all your training! The scammers don’t all have the face of their employment, which is also why they succeed in their scheming.

“He visits the residents of the retirement home. He told me that he would come every Wednesday to our rooms or the common room. He wants to organise workshops for Christmas or Easter.”

Suddenly, the thought of having doubted his intentions, even if it was only for a moment, makes me uncomfortable. It’s not every day that you come across 30-year-old guys devoting time to the elderly. And I suppose that, if he planned interventions every week, he must have spoken with the management of the establishment. Come to think of it, it seems to me that I saw a note in the elevator not long ago, announcing a new schedule of activities. He could very well be a volunteer or be employed by the retirement home. Either way, if he likes spending time with the residents, he can only be a good guy.

“And he’ll be here often?”

But Papi displays a look that tells me that the game of questions and answers is over. He gets up painfully from his chair and gestures for me to do the same.

“You would be kind to get out of my way, it’s dinner time and I hate being late,” he grumbles.

Meals here are served at the time when the children outside have just finished their afternoon snack. But I guess like everything, you get used to it.

I comply and extend my arm to him for support.

“You don’t want to get the elevator and block it on my floor instead? That will prevent that rogue Suzie Martin from arriving before me and taking the table near the window.”

“It’s not very nice to do that,” I point out.

“That’s right. Everyone knows it’s my table. She does it on purpose.”

“Papi, I was talking about blocking the elevator.”

My grandfather doesn’t move very fast, so by the time he gets to the end of the hall...

“I’m past the age to be nice, as you say.”

I refrain from pointing out to him that everyone is old here, and if they all reason like him, it will quickly be anarchy.

“You know, if you would allow me to send for a nurse when I’m not around, you could stay home, and you wouldn’t have to fight to save your seat at dinner.”

“We’ve had this conversation before,” he grumbles. “You know very well that I don’t want you to sacrifice your youth on top of your savings to take care of me.”

I was about to make other arguments, but he cut me off in a glance. As a teenager, I would have insisted, but now I have learned to shut up when the battle is over. And when he gives me that stern look, I realise that silence is the best option.

I escort him to his place in the refectory where his friends are waiting for him (and have reserved the table by the window, phew!) Then I kissed him. I promised to come back the next day, but he’s already not listening to me anymore. His eyes are focused on the arriving food cart. Despite his age, he hasn’t lost any of his ogre appetite.

Before leaving the premises, I go through the director’s office to pick up the last invoice. Once in the parking lot, I open it. The amount written at the bottom right makes me swallow heavily. I sigh and stuff the document into my bag. That’s when I feel my phone vibrate.

Romy: Aperitif in half an hour at the Café de la Place?

This is a good way to take my mind off things! I confirm my presence and take the direction of the city centre. It’s time I announced to my friends that a new hunk has arrived in town!